Some two hours or more after he had been discharged from the presence of the Captain-General, Juan Lerma sat musing in one of the many hundred chambers which composed the vast extent of the palace of Nezahualcojotl, a different being from that the reader beheld him returning from exile. The coarse tilmaltli, or native cloak, and the barbarous tunic, had been exchanged for raiment of a better material and fashion, a part of which,—the bragas and xaqueta, at least—were from the wardrobe of the general, while modesty, or reluctance to accept any further of such assistance than was absolutely necessary, had induced him to substitute for the plain but costly capa, or mantle, of velvet, the long surcoat of black cloth, very richly embroidered, which had, as he was told, accompanied the suit of armour, sent by his unknown friend. This valuable and well-timed gift lay upon a platform beside his matted and canopied couch, shining brilliantly in the light which a waxen candle diffused throughout the apartment. He sat upon a native stool, carved of a solid block of wood, and his fine countenance and majestic figure, besides the advantages they received from becoming garments, appeared even of a more elevated beauty, when seen by this solitary ray.

His only companion was the dog Befo, whose shaggy coat, yet gleaming with moisture, betrayed that he had shared with the young man his evening bath in the lake. The attachment of this beast was much more natural than remarkable. Five years before, when Juan was but a boy in Santo Domingo, Befo had been his playmate and companion;—had followed him to Cuba, when the youth began to weary of dependence, and long for a life of activity and distinction; and was finally presented by the grateful adventurer to Cortes, as the only gift in his power to bestow; for, at that time, saving his youth, health, and good spirits, Befo made up the sum of his worldly possessions. In the change of masters, however, Befo did not trouble himself to acquiesce; nor did he perceive any necessity, while treating Cortes with all surly good-will and respect, to abate a jot of his love for the hand which had first sustained and caressed him. The dog is the only animal that shows disinclination to be transferred from one master to another. The horse cares not, the ox submits, and man makes no opposition. The dog has a will of his own, and acknowledges no change of servitude, until conscious of a change of affection.

The stirring and harassing events of the day, though they had exhausted the spirit of the youth, had yet brought with exhaustion that nervous irritableness which drives away slumber from the eyes of the over-weary. Twice or thrice, Juan had flung himself on the couch to repose, but in vain; and as he now sat questioning himself how far the substitution of soft mats and robes for a bed of earth, might account for his inability to sleep, he began to revolve in his mind, for the twentieth time, his change of fortunes, and wonder at the inauspicious, and, as it seemed to him, unnatural sadness, which oppressed his spirits.

"I have been restored," he muttered, half aloud,—and, as he spoke, Befo, roused by the accents from the floor, thrust his rough head over his knees, to testify his attention,—"I have been restored to favour, and, in great part, to the friendship of the General.—Thou whinest, Befo! I would I could read the heart of a man as clearly as thine.—Yet has he not distinguished me with a high command,—a captain's? I trow, it is not every one who can so soon step into this dignity, especially when without the recommendation of birth, as Alvarado hinted.—I will show this proud cavalier, that God does not confine all merit to hidalgos' sons. If he give me but a capable force—Twenty foot and six horse?—'tis but a weak array for a field where eighty men have perished. Yet I care not: if I have but Xicotencal to back me, with some two or three xiquipils[9] of his Tlascalans, it will be enough. If I fall,—perhaps that will be better: I am too faint-hearted for these wars. Villafana says, that he brands the prisoners too, and sells them for slaves. This is surely unjust—He was another man at Cuba."

At this moment, the dog raised his head and growled, and Juan heard steps approaching through the long passage, that ran by his door. Here they stopped, and Befo continuing to give utterance to his displeasure, the voice of Villafana whispered through the curtain,

"Put thy hand on the beast's neck, or box him o' the ears—He is no friend of mine."

"Enter," said Juan, "if thou art seeking me. He will do thee no harm."

"Ay, marry," said Villafana, coming in; "for at the worst, and when other things fail, I will stop him with my dudgeon, be he Cortes's, thine, or any one's else. It stirs my choler to be growled at by so base a thing as a dog."

"Put up thy weapon, nevertheless," said Juan, observing that Villafana had a poniard in his hand; "thou seest, the dog is quiet. In this he pays me the compliment of supposing I can protect myself. What is thy will with me, Villafana?"

"First," said the Alguazil, with a laugh, "to give thee my congratulations touching thy sudden rise from the abyss, and thy meditated flight heaven-ward. And, secondly," he continued, when Juan had nodded his thanks, "to ask, in the way of friendship, from how high a cliff thou canst tumble headlong, without danger of breaking thy neck?"

"This is but a silly question, friendly though it may be," replied Juan.

"Oh, seÑor," said Villafana, "you must remember, the first night we slept with the army, at the base of El Volcan, the mighty Popocatepetl, how much we admired the great stones, that the devils therein flung up against the stars! You nod again: good luck to your recollections! Did you observe any one of those ignited masses stick against the vault, and there hang among the luminaries?"

"Surely not," said Juan; "those that fell not immediately back into the crater, rolled down among the snows on the mountain-side, and were there extinguished."

"Very well, seÑor—When you are mounted, you can remember the fire-stones, and make your choice whether to tumble back into the fire of wrath, that now sends you upward, or to quench yourself for ever in the frozen bed of degradation.—You go to Tochtepec?"

"I do," said Juan, somewhat angrily; "and I warn thee, thy malicious metaphors will not make me less grateful for the kindness that sends me."

"God rest you—it were better you had accepted the embassy to Guatimozin."

"Hah!" said Juan, "how knowest thou of this? It was spoken only in secret council?"

"Oh," said Villafana, with a second laugh, "if thou wilt but scratch on one end of a long log, be sure I will hear it at the other. There is something more in the world than magic."

He spoke with marked exultation; indeed Juan had already observed that his carriage was freer and bolder than common, and that he bore himself like a man who cares not wholly to conceal a triumph of spirit, which he thinks it not needful altogether to divulge.

"Harkee, seÑor Don Juan," he went on, abruptly and inquisitively, "thou art good friends with Xicotencal?"

"So far as a Christian man can be with one, who, though a very noble being, is yet a misbeliever."

"And thou wert sworn friends, at Mexico, with the young prince, Guatimozin?"

"Not so," said Juan: "the young man kept aloof from us all, being of the hostile party; and there was scarce one of us who had ever seen his face. I must confess, however, if I can believe Techeechee, that my preservation in the expedition was owing to his good act; for Techeechee avers, that it was through Guatimozin's good will that he was sent with me, to secure me from the death which was designed for all the rest of the party."

"Designed? dost thou allow it then?" cried the Alguazil, quickly.

"Ay," replied Juan, dryly; "designed by the Mexican lords, but not by Christian leaders."

"And art thou not sorry thou wert not despatched to him as envoy?"

"Why need we talk of this?" said Juan, hesitating. "Guatimozin the king, may be different from Guatimozin the prince."

"He is not yet the king," said Villafana. "He will not be crowned till the day of the great war-festival, and not then, unless he can furnish a Spaniard for the sacrifice. I'faith, he loves not the blood of his red neighbours."

"Villafana," said Juan, struck with certain uneasy suspicions, "thou seemest better acquainted with these things than becomes a true follower of Don Hernan."

"Not a whit, not a whit," cried the Alguazil, hastily: "this is but the common talk,—the common talk, seÑor; and I am but a fool to indulge in it, to the prejudice of other business more urgent. Come, seÑor,—will you walk in the garden? There is a friend to speak with you."

"What friend?" said Juan.—"Villafana, I half suspect you are engaged in some foul work. I will have naught to do with it."

"Lo you now," said the Alguazil, impatiently; "this is wild work. Do you think I will assassinate you? Ho! this is a thing thy best friend would entrust to another. Come, seÑor;—you have your rapier,—you can take your casque, too, if you have any fear. It is a friend, who has that to say which it concerns your life to know. You know not your danger. God be with you, and your blood be upon your own head! If you refuse, you will not repent you:—no, faith—you will not have time left for lamentation.—Farewell, seÑor,—"

"Stay, Villafana," exclaimed Juan, much disturbed: "Friend or foe,—it is not that which stays me, but the fear of being entrapped into something more to be dreaded than death. Thou art a schemer; it is thy nature: I will have nothing to do with thy plots, or with those who—"

"Pho! this concerns thyself alone, not me. My only plot is to help one who desires to drag thee out of the fire thou art so bent to burn in. I take you to your friend, and depart: I have other things to occupy me. I am but a messenger. Will you go? I must give you a token then.—You have not forgotten Hilario?"

At these words, muttered under breath, Juan started and turned pale, exclaiming, "Saints and angels! and heaven forbid! Mine ears did not then deceive me? Oh wo to us all! Alas for thine ill news! Have I not pain enough of mine own?"

As he spoke, with a trembling voice, Villafana handed him his cap and sword, saying, as he put into his hand the latter, which was a light rapier,

"A good blade! and has hung at Don Hernan's girdle.—Leave the dog behind: he will but set up his cursed growling, and so bring upon you some one who may not relish the meeting."

"It is true, then?" cried Juan, with tones and aspect of the greatest distress: "So fair, so young, so noble, so fallen!"

"Back, cur! thick-lips! Befo!" cried the Alguazil, as the two left the chamber.—"He grumbles at me, as if to say Ehem, with disdain. Command him thyself: he is a superfluous companion."

The young man waved his hand to Befo; at which signal Befo threw himself upon his haunches, looking after Juan till he beheld him issue from the long passage into the open air. Then rising, with the air of a servant who understands his duty much better even than his master, he followed slowly after the pair into the garden.